


Oh, no

by RoughTweedAction (Donya)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Awkward Flirting, F/M, Humour, Smallcroft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2018-11-15 05:23:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11224194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Donya/pseuds/RoughTweedAction
Summary: Mycroft takes powerful sleeping pills. There are side effects.





	Oh, no

Mycroft was understandably reluctant to take sleeping pills. One addict in the family was more than enough and he could not imagine being dependent on medication. However, another sleepless night, slow hours of doing nothing productive and the resulting irritability convinced him to seek help. He had tried everything: lemon balm tea, no electronic devices after ten, lavender bath oil, breathing exercises, slow music, white noise. Perhaps the cause of the problem was the recurring dream of Sherlock killing himself right in front of him, but there was nothing Mycroft could do about that.

The medication he was prescribed was powerful. He was fed up with ineffective solutions. He could barely function at that point. Feeling hopeful and determined, he swallowed a pill, took a long, relaxing bath, took another pill, put on his favourite pair of pyjamas and went to bed. Sleep, he told himself, sleep now. Now. One more pill. He stared into the darkness, rolled onto his back. He was so worried about Sherlock, his naïve little brother wanted to help their sister. The best possible outcome was disillusionment, the worst-

The first thing he registered was how amazingly relaxed and well-rested he felt. The next was panic. He surely overslept and was terribly late. He sat up and checked the time. Almost six. Huh, it felt more like noon. He lay back, sighed contently. Finally, he managed to recharge his batteries. Now he could deal with-

'Sherlock?' Mycroft rubbed his eyes and looked again. His brother was standing by the door, holding a tray. The smell of freshly made tea was probably what woke him. Sherlock kept the distance, glancing at Mycroft cautiously as if he didn't dare to approach him. 'What are you doing here?'

Sherlock brow furrowed. 'You rang me around midnight to give me a clear order.  _Come to my house in the morning and make sure the tea is ready before I wake up_. _Also, don't speak unspoken to, I can barely tolerate you these days,_ if I recall correctly.'

Mycroft frowned. 'I didn't ring you. Thank you for the tea, though, put the tray here, please.'

Sherlock did as he was told, eyeing Mycroft apprehensively, ready to back away at any second.

'Don't be ridiculous, someone pranked you, last night I was...' Mycroft trailed off, struck by a terrifying thought. 'Oh, my God, the pills,' he muttered quietly. He had increased the recommended dosage, not believing in side effects. His body, unused to such strong medication, reacted badly. He pictured himself in a drug-addled state ranting over the phone about his morning tea. 'What else did I say?'

Sherlock relaxed minutely, having realised what triggered the sudden outburst of Mycroft's pent-up frustration. 'So you will not actually... and I can still... thank goodness.' His expression turned serious again. 'Oh, but you are in trouble, brother dear. You haven't only called me. You woke Mrs Hudson to tell her repeatedly to shut up. She was most confused, thought you were drunk. John is definitely pissed off with you, you called right when Rosie was falling asleep.'

'What did I tell him?'

'A bunch of, he hopes, fake stories about people who laid a finger on me and disappeared without a trace.'

'Anyone else?'

'Mummy. You informed her you started smoking when you found a packet of cigarettes in Daddy's study.'

Mycroft paid no attention to Sherlock's reply, frightened by another possibility. He surely rang Elizabeth Smallwood as well and God only knew what he said. Hesitantly, he reached out to take his phone. His groans of agony alerted Sherlock.

'What? Who else did you-'

'Lady Smallwood. But I did not call her, I sent her texts. Lots of them,' Mycroft whispered, wincing as he prepared himself to read his messages. For sure they were lewd and explicit. Something about her being a prickteaser and detailed descriptions of wet dreams she inspired over the years. He scrolled to the beginning, wanting to delay the moment of discovering just how hopelessly he had ruined their relationship.

_Hello. This is Mycroft Holmes and I am not drunk._

_I am sorry your husband died, but I'm glad you're free._

_It is because I have always liked you._

_I like that you are strong and not easily intimidated and loyal._

_I like that you like me._

_Despite everything, you know about me._

_I didn't ring you to have that drink because I'd hate to disappoint you._

_I value our friendship. As much as I want more, I don't want to ruin what we have._

_But that didn't stop me from imagining our date._

Mycroft stopped reading, numbed by pure mortification. He looked unseeingly at the duvet, struggling to come up with a plan to control the damage his drugged self had caused. The voice in his head screamed it was the end of the world and there was nothing he could do to save his face. Sexual frustration fueled texts would be easy to explain and forgive, but this... He practically confessed he had a crush on her and now couldn't convincingly lie his way out of it.

'Oh, God.'

'What? Did you tell her about your... feelings?' Sherlock just had to joyously deduce Mycroft's life-changing mistake.

'I have to leave the country. Maybe France...'

Sherlock took advantage of his state and snatched the phone from his hand. ' _I like that you appreciate me and don't insult my intelligence. My mother has never done that. That does not mean I have mother issues. I would have loved you even if you were not older than me.'_

Mycroft cried out in anguish. He could never face Elizabeth ever again. Blaming his sudden honesty on sleeping pills was not going to make her forget the disastrous confession.

'My goodness. France is definitely too close. I suggest New Zealand or Chile.' Sherlock patted his shoulder sympathetically and continued reading. _'I am sorry you were licked by Magnussen.  You can lick my face anytime you want. I hope that will make you feel better. I would love to lick your feet, in my office, for hours and kiss your ankles._ Mycroft, there's only one solution. You have to fake your death.'

He didn't have the strength to read all of the texts. Sherlock assured him the rest was just as cringeworthy. Additional confirmation of his self-esteem and mother issues, his praise kink and submissiveness and of course, a blurry picture of his penis. Mycroft tried to reason with himself, one gigantic mistake couldn't put an end to his career, leaving the life he worked hard to perfect would be a fine example of over-reacting. But then he remembered the worst parts of his ramblings and groaned again.

He knew from experience how complicated it was to apologise to Elizabeth. Therefore, he decided to avoid any direct interaction with her for the rest of his life and forever hide behind Anthea. The hardest part of this perfectly reasonable arrangement was not being able to talk to her. Mycroft realised how much he enjoyed spending time with Elizabeth and talking to her, even if they discussed mainly the most infuriating MPs and the never-ending Sherlock-related problems.

After a fortnight, he almost convinced himself it wasn't that bad. There were other people he could form an awkward friendship with and eventually disappoint spectacularly. Sherlock kept mentioning Greg Lestrade and Mycroft gave it a chance. Lestrade was understanding and to cheer Mycroft up, he mentioned all those times when Sherlock called him Daddy. Mycroft's only conclusion was that there had to be a law preventing a Holmes from having a conversation with another human being. There was something really wrong with them.

 

It was because of Lestrade that he saw Elizabeth. He was standing outside the New Scotland Yard having a smoke and heard her voice. Too late to run away, she approached him, focused entirely on his cigarette.

'Please, tell me you have one more,' she said without a hint of anger or smugness. 'God, I miss Vivian. Yes, she tried to frame me, but at least she always had an emergency packet of cigarettes. My new secretary is useless.'

Mycroft was grateful for the task of giving her a cigarette and finding his lighter. That gave him a couple of seconds to compose himself and bite his tongue when he wanted to tell her how stupid he felt about the whole mess. His whiny _I was so sleep deprived, please forgive me_ was better left unsaid.

Elizabeth smoked, sighing in relief and chattered about the latest antics of the PM. She smiled and glanced at her wristwatch and did not mention the texts. Mycroft observed her, bewildered. He gave her so much ammunition to use against him and she chose not to humiliate him and acted like nothing happened.

'... and it rained the entire day, can you imagine? It was sunny in London.'

Mycroft barely listened to her, astonished by an unexpected discovery. It dawned on him that he wanted her to bring up the inappropriate messages, do something about it, make him convince her to keep it between them. A drink or sexual favour to stop her from sharing his indecent secrets. Anything was better than keeping the status quo. A part of him that he successfully repressed for decades took over that fateful night and made it clear what he truly wanted.

'I am sorry about the texts. You can laugh about it. The angle was really bad, trust me and the light...' He mumbled, feeling both bold and absolutely foolish. 'Thank you for not making this more embarrassing than it already is.'

Elizabeth slowly exhaled the smoke, savouring the moment of tension. 'Mycroft, don't look so tortured. That wasn't the first time something like this happened to me. I completely understand, no need to apologise.'

Mycroft frowned. She was not angry with him, disgusted or shocked. He was not going to have to earn her forgiveness. Everything was back to normal. He didn't like the sound of that. He felt ready to come out of his shell.

'I do think we should have that drink,' he stated firmly.

She gave him a curious look. 'You do? I thought you were fine with casual flirting and occasional bad-quality intimate photos.'

Surprised by his own words, Mycroft assured her he had some good-quality ones as well. Elizabeth smiled, intrigued and agreed to take a look.

 

The next morning, Mycroft woke in an incredibly good mood. He had no trouble falling asleep and had the most pleasant dreams. Without the pills. He couldn't believe he had not tried the most obvious, completely natural remedy. Sex. The pleasurable languour and sharing the bed with a sleepy, warm person was more effective than medication. Also, the side effects were actually enjoyable. His dressing gown and Elizabeth's clothes were where they left them and yet he smelt the freshly brewed coffee and heard approaching footsteps. Oh, what a beautiful morning.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the episode of 'The New Adventures of Old Christine', S2E15. If you haven't seen this show, you're missing out.


End file.
